


for which girl art thou flowers bringing?

by Ephemeral_Joy



Series: idiots in love [5]
Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant?, F/M, Fluff, Heartache, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Picnics, Romance, Tumblr Prompt, winifred rose mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 22:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21186683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ephemeral_Joy/pseuds/Ephemeral_Joy
Summary: In which Gilbert chooses Winifred, but gets to have one final moment with Anne in a sun-drenched orchard. Heartache ensues.(prompt on tumblr)





	for which girl art thou flowers bringing?

**Author's Note:**

> can't believe i did this. i blacked out, tbh
> 
> not edited | not beta'd | title from "Songs (IV)" by E.E. Cummings ; he's also mentioned in the fic but I KNOW that's impossible LET ME HAVE CREATIVE LIBERTY OKAY 
> 
> you can find me on tumblr at https/lydias--stiles.tumblr.com  
ALSO me and @theystayalive have a podcast! https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC1PPO4Fcyo5zcse3zZW-L6g

Summer arrived unbeknownst to Gilbert. Truly, it felt like he had kept his eyes on the ground for months and suddenly looked up to see that the grass had gone from dry to a luscious green and flowers had bloomed into bright pink petals. His fingers grazed the flora. Anne would love them. 

(He momentarily considered plucking a bouquet, but them reminded himself he has confessed his affections to Winifred and she had reciprocated.)

(He didn’t know if she liked flowers or not. She might say it was old-fashioned.)

Speaking of the classical beauty, her mane of red appeared in the distance. Her hair was loose and devoid of hat. She wore her typical green dress, one that made her pale skin and blue eyes stand out like in a renaissance painting.   
Gilbert released a breath, stuttering. Anne was gorgeous. 

(She always was.)

Ever since Easter, they’d found pleasant companionship in one another, Anne often coming to the Blythe-LaCroix household to take care of Delphine and hang out with Gilbert. They’d discuss the world’s problems over a plate of Mary’s famous cookies, or draw (miserably, but with passion), or quiz each other on upcoming tests, or take a walk. One, like Rachel, would say it was improper for a girl and boy their age to be close friends whilst the boy was taken by another woman, but the boy didn’t care.

Anne was, as she would say it, his kindred spirit. A puzzle piece of the complex character that made him himself. He’d never say she  _ completed  _ him, as he was perfectly fine on his own, but she just made it  _ better _ . 

Her laugh tinkled across the property. He beamed:  _ much _ better. 

‘Gilbert Blythe, you are in luck today!’, she yelled, holding her basket up in the air. ‘Marilla bought dates in Charlottetown and she made a pie with it! It’s absolutely,’ she caught her breath, stopping in front of him and wiping the sweat of her brow. ‘absolutely  _ divine _ .’

He smirked down at her, cupping his ear. ‘What was that? I don’t think the people in India heard you yet.’

Anne rolled her eyes and pushed his shoulder, good-naturedly. ‘Hilarious,’ she deadpanned. It was then when she noticed his location. The girl gasped, dropping her basket for dramatics and spun around. 

‘The orchard in summer,’ she whispered, a baffled gleam in her eye. ‘Beautiful.’

Gilbert couldn’t help but stare at her. That was what happened a lot nowadays anyway. Anything that Anne did was remarkable, whether it be a smart comment, a beaming smile, a knowing look, a hum, a puff - her. She was magnetic, him powerless to pull away. 

‘Yeah,’ he breathed, glancing at the trees surrounding them before she realised what he was doing. His cheeks reddened. ‘It’s pretty out here.’

Anne grabbed a big patchwork blanket from her basket and laid it on the ground. She plopped down, patting the space beside her. He sat down, leaving a respectable space between them. 

_ Winnie, Winnie, Winnie.  _

As if reading his mind, she said: ‘How’s miss Rose?’

He quirked a brow, ‘Why?’

‘I was just wondering.’ She shrugged, more stuff appearing from her basket like a magician’s box. Books, plates, cups, knife, juice, the pie. A picnic revealed itself around him. 

‘She’s fine,’ he said, curt. 

(She’s not you.)

‘Great,’ Anne smiled, ‘I thought she was wonderful at the ball. Smart.’

‘She is.’

Anne paused. ‘And pretty. I’d kill to have her hair.’ Gilbert glanced at her. Anne’s jovial stance had gotten more nervous. She bit her lip.

Gilbert hesitated. ‘She is.’

A pressed smile formed on her face. ‘I’m happy you found someone, Gil. I’m sure the town was pushing you about it.’

He wanted to laugh. How terribly wrong she was. For one, he didn’t give one bit about what he town thought of him (he lived with a black man, for God’s sake!) and two, everyone kind of assumed he’d settle once he became a doctor. But it was all her.  
She made it quite clear at the ball she had no interest in him, making him believe that the dance rehearsal and the fair was all a figment of his imagination. Her soft, breathless smile and those eyes that drowned in love and fondness was a trick of the mind. A clever illusion. All the moments they’ve shared, at school or at their homes or across oceans or under this tree, had all been platonic.   
He should’ve known when she suggested he’d post a “Take Notice” for Ruby. He should’ve known then, when his feelings weren’t at the front of his mind. But now here he was, heart ripped out and in her hands, bleeding.   
And so he settled for Winifred. Smart, pretty, funny Winifred. A perfect match on paper. But she wasn’t Anne. 

_ Love me back _ , he wanted to say,  _ and mean it.  _

Instead, he said: ‘Are we going to stare at the pie or eat it?’

Her awkward posture relaxed and she nodded. ‘Don’t eat it all! I want Bash to try it too.’ She cut a piece. ‘Have you read the piece I gave you?’

‘Your essay on the Mi’kmaq?’ She nodded. ‘Yeah, it was really good, Anne. It was all your articles, compiled, right?’

She ducked her head, bashful. ‘No. I used them to write it but it’s a completely new piece.’ She raised her chin, haughty. ‘I think it’s my best one yet. I’ve sent it to a newspaper under a pseudonym. I’m longing for them to publish it!’

‘It will,’ he said, and he meant it. ‘It was professional and has depth, but passionate and beautifully written too. You really found your pen, Anne.’

She beamed, bopping her piece of pie against his. ‘Thank you, Gil.’ 

He finally tasted the delicacy, nearly groaning with delight. ‘Marilla can  _ bake. _ ’ 

‘I told you!’

They’d fallen back into easy conversation, slowly finding themselves sitting closer to one another than how they started. An hour later both were laying down, starting at the sky through the filtering of the branches and leaves. 

‘I wonder what’s out there; in space,’ Gilbert said. He licked his lips, tasting the sweetness of the dates. For a second he thought of Anne’s lips, and how they’d also taste sweet. ‘What if we’re  _ not  _ the only ones.’

Anne was silent for a moment. ‘I never thought about that. You mean other humans?’

‘Yeah… maybe. I don’t know.’

She giggled. ‘What? They’re  _ green _ ?’ 

He smirked. ‘What if they are?’ he glanced at her, mischief in his gaze. ’And they all have little, red braids.’

‘Idiot.’

‘And  _ yet  _ you’re here.’

She couldn’t counter that, and he grinned in victory. She babbled on about all the possibilities, what the planets looked like and the people that lived on it and how they’d be from the future. It was a ridiculous spiel of thoughts, but he loved it. 

‘And who knows!’, Anne exclaimed, too far gone in her imagination. ‘Maybe one day we’ll be able to visit a planet! Like… like the moon!’

Gilbert puffed. ‘Impossible.’

Anne pulled herself up, leaning on her elbows. ‘How so?’ She brought her face closer to his, and he could count every freckle on her face if he wanted; he could kiss her if he wanted to. He could caress her cheek and twirl a strand of her hair and place his face in her neck if wanted to.   
‘Don’t you think anything is possible if you just work hard enough? Believe hard enough?  _ I  _ for one am of the belief that anything I pursue will come true! If it rhymes it must be accurate, right?’ The latter was said with a teasing lilt of voice, but he was sold of her proclamation. That fire and determination in her gaze made him sit up too, eyes and lips levelled.

Anne paused, surprised at the proximity. She turned her head, grabbing one of the books she brought. Gilbert sighed, rubbing his cheek. 

_ Winnie, Winnie, Winnie. You have her. You have to cherish her.  _

‘Uh, have you read the poems of E.E. Cummings yet?’

He snapped out of his dreadful spiral of thoughts. ‘No.’

Anne tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Was that blush on her cheeks an illusion too? ‘Would you like it if I read it to you?’

‘I’d love to.’ Gilbert smiled, placing his head back down and Anne followed suit. He froze when he felt her head touch his shoulder. A pluck of red grazed his cheek. 

_ Winnie, Winnie, Winnie, Anne. Winnie! _

(But it was Anne. It was always her.)

‘2 little whos  
(he and she)  
under are this  
wonderful tree’

Her voice, low and with big resonance, carried across the field. He closed his eyes, relishing in the feel of her hair tickling in his face, her free hand mere centimeters from his, feeling its heat.

‘smiling stand  
(all realms of where  
and when beyond)  
now and here’

He would settle for Winnie, they’d make a great pair. Nurse and doctor. Rich, living in a townhouse. He’d be fine. 

‘(far from a grown  
-up i & you-  
ful world of known)  
who and who’

But his heart would always belong to Anne. Nothing will ever change that.

'(2 little arms  
and over them this  
aflame with dreams  
incredible is)'


End file.
